


SPQ-T

by lammermoorian



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Fluff, just a couple of college kids in love, sexy domestic fun times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lammermoorian/pseuds/lammermoorian
Summary: When his girlfriend is in a bad mood, Percy has a few tried and true ways to make her feel better. (Late, non-specific VDay fic)
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 115





	SPQ-T

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as always to Darkmagyk for beta-ing 💖

Okay: knife to his throat, he will admit, California has some redeemable features. 

Like the weather! A guy can get used to all this sunshine. And it’s nice that he doesn’t really have to worry about the snow anymore. The ocean is stunning, of course, teeming with life and energy like a shot of Redbull directly into his veins. Studying’s got him worked up, distracted, stressed out? Percy just needs to take a dip in the bay, and he’s ready to rock. And the food--don’t even get him started on the food. There’s a taco truck that parks just outside of the campus that makes the best fish tacos ever; they’re so good, he doesn’t even feel bad about eating the fish. Oh, and the not being constantly attacked by monsters thing. That’s pretty awesome, too.

On the flip side, of course, the pizza is terrible. And even the most picture perfect Pacific sunset can’t compare to the wild, unfettered feeling of a storm off Long Island Sound. And everyone is way too nice, too laidback. The New Yorker in him wants to scream every time he’s walking down the sidewalk and some group of dudebros with too much time and not enough common decency on their hands won’t get out the damn way. 

He misses Paul, and Estelle, and his mom. He misses the rats on the subway and the bodega cats and the dogs running through Central Park. He misses camp and the East coast so much. Annabeth does, too, and they’ve agreed that as soon as they graduate, they’re heading right back to New York as quickly as they can.

California is nice, though, for the time being. Dr. and Mrs. Chase are nice.

New Rome University is nice. 

He’s doing well in school, for once in his life, rocking a sweet, solid 3.2 GPA, the highest he’s ever had before. He has friends, beyond Annabeth, Frank, and Hazel, and Reyna and Nico sometimes. It’s kind of going great.

Percy just wishes he could say the same for his girlfriend.

The apartment door slams, the heavy, pissed-off footfalls of his girlfriend almost thundering down their little hallway. “In the kitchen!” he calls, frowning down at the blue dough in the bowl. He is seriously starting to regret volunteering to bring food for monthly Risk night.

He feels his girlfriend’s arms come up to wrap around him, Annabeth wordlessly hugging him from the back, blanketing him.

“Long day?” he asks.

She nods into his shoulder blades.

“Wanna talk about it?”

A shake of her head.

“Wanna get take out and watch  _ Roman Holiday _ ?”

Another shake.

Percy pulls away, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, “I’m fine. Just…” She chews her lip, gray eyes shining as she considers her words. “...Just a long day.”

“Okay, well…” Whatever is bothering her is bound to come out sooner rather than later, and, going by past experience, the best thing he can do for her right now is to just wait for it to surface, and be present until she’s comfortable enough to talk. “I’ve got one more batch of cookies to make, and then I have to work on Dr. Desmond’s paper. Wanna keep me company?”

“Please.”

She doesn’t hop up on the counter like someone would expect, doesn’t pull up a chair and get out her laptop to do her own work, but instead just slides her hands around his middle and hugs him even more tightly, covering his back, her heartbeat gently insistent against his spine.

They stand there together for twenty minutes, Percy spooning out the cookies, cleaning the mixing bowl, absorbing the heat of the oven and the heat of her body. She doesn’t even let go as he bends down to take the tray out, adjusting her position to stay out of his way as best she can, but always, always keeping that skin to skin contact. 

Cookies done, dishes washed, and paper calling his name, Percy gently extricates her hands from beneath his sweatpants, turning around, and sweeping her up in an honest-to-gods bridal hold. She squeaks, surprised. “Percy! Put me down!”

“Yeah, yeah, in a second.” 

“I’m too heavy!”

“Babe, I can almost bench two of you,” he says as he sets her down on their couch. “You’re fine.”

Thankfully his laptop is already there--Annabeth immediately reassumes her attempts to crawl inside of his skin and get as close to him as physically possible. Unfortunately, his laptop charger is all the way in his room, and he only has 43% battery to spare. Still, he thinks he’ll be fine.

At 35% battery, Annabeth finally speaks. 

“I miss New York,” she says.

Percy hums, consulting something on his penteconter anatomy sheet.

“Let’s drop out of school and go back to camp.”

“Don’t you have a partner presentation you need to finish?”

“Shit.” She drops her head on his shoulder. “Stephen is a blackbelt, too. He’d kill me.”

“And then there’s that thing with your dad this weekend. Hard to do if you’re dead.”

“He’d forgive me eventually.”

Percy shrugs his Annabeth-free shoulder. “He would. So, you wanna tell me what’s eating you?”

She grumbles, pulling away, falling against the back of the couch. “It’s no big deal,” she says. “Just stuff.”

His fingers still on the keyboard.

‘Just stuff’ could mean a few things. He knows that school is hard for her, even with NRU’s demigod support, and that she’s not very happy about having the same GPA as him, even though her program is infinitely harder than his. Her relationship with her dad is healing, but they’re still not very close, and he doesn’t think she’ll ever be as close with her step-parent as Percy is with his. He knows her ankle injury is flaring up again, getting in the way of her strict, punishing exercise regimen, and that she’s unhappy about her recent weight gain, no matter how many times Percy tells her that she couldn’t be more beautiful or sexy if she tried. 

But this sounds like a different kind of stuff. “Just stuff?”

Nodding, she chews on her lip. “Yeah. Just dumb stuff.”

“Just dumb stuff,” he repeats.

She won’t even look at him, apparently enraptured by the little bit of her under her fingernails.

Percy saves his work, closes his laptop, then turns to her, taking one of her hands in his. “What is it?”

Annabeth frowns. “I don’t--it’s dumb.”

“Dumb dumb or actually dumb?”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No, like--” he gestures with his free hand. “How dumb is it?”

“Really dumb. Definitely not make a big deal out of it dumb.”

“I get that,” he says, “but it seems like it’s kind of eating at you.”

She flushes, ever so lightly, crossing her arms. “It’s--I’m not--”

Pride is her greatest flaw--always has been. Percy has learned by now how to take care of it, how to help her through moments like these, how to be a steady presence and a soft place to land. He just has to wait.

“It’s stupid,” she says, finally. “It’s  _ so _ stupid.” She has her beautiful face in her hands, the tips of her ears turning pink, but Percy knows her well enough to hear the hesitation in her voice anyway, so he decides to go for it, gently pulling her hands away. 

“Come onnnnnnn,” he drawls, just to see her face screw up as she tries not to smile. “Just tell me! Promise I won’t judge. Safe space.”

She ends up pulling him down on top of her, the two of them crammed into the corner of the couch, which is not an arrangement that he hates. Her face is bright red, now, even as she glares up at him, a glare that is softened considerably by the twist of her lips into a reluctant grin. “I hate you,” she mumbles, pressing her face into his neck.

Bingo. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he says, wrapping his arms around her--he knows well enough now that she likes to be held whenever she’s getting something really big off of her chest, just to be reminded that he’s here, and that he won’t leave her. Which, he won’t, and he’s told her a million times, but he also just likes to hold her, so it’s a real win-win situation. That’s the great thing about Annabeth. He can never lose. “So, come on,” he says. “Out with it.”

Even so, she’s silent for about a minute. Percy passes the time by playing with the end of a beautiful curl, turning the soft hair between his fingers. “It’s so stupid,” she finally says, the words spoken straight into his skin, “but I can’t stop thinking about what Nate said about children of Athena.”

He tightens his embrace. “What an absolute creep.” 

Percy enjoys some special privileges as a former praetor, even if he’d only been one for a grand total of 72 hours; full tuition to NRU, discounts from local restaurants, this fantastic private apartment, among other things. Unfortunately, he does not enjoy diplomatic immunity, and no matter how well-liked he is by the current leadership, tensions between the Greeks and the Romans are still high enough that there is a very real risk of war breaking out should Percy, seemingly unprovoked, take that guy’s ass to the fucking ground. It would be so worth it, though.

“I just--I hate how people only seem to respect me because of you. I hate it so much! Like, I found the Athena Parthenos! I fought the Lord of Time! I’m fucking amazing!” He so, so badly wants to jump in, even just to affirm everything she’s saying, because yeah, she  _ is  _ fucking amazing, but if he interrupts her now, she might lose her nerve, and he can tell this has been a long time coming. “And it just pisses me off so much because Minerva is one third of the Capitoline Trio but I can’t even be trusted with with a library scroll because apparently my weaver brain won’t be able to handle Tacitus, and--” She breaks off, pulling Percy down on top of her, screaming into his collarbone. 

It’s a shitty situation and it’s not entirely untrue. Percy has rehabilitated Neptune’s reputation somewhat; Minerva’s remains the same, no matter how many records Annabeth breaks or temples she designs or friendships she forges with current and former Roman leaders. 

“And it’s so annoying!” She is speaking directly into his shoulder now. “Like, what, is New Rome perma-stuck in the fifties? Would I be allowed to open a bank account or--or even  _ go  _ to NRU if I weren’t dating you?”

He knows that she knows that she’s wrong, and that it’s a dumb analogy, but he doesn’t comment on it. “I’d like to see him try to beat you in anything,” he says instead. “Fighting, weaving, or otherwise. Except you’d probably kill him.”

“He’d deserve it,” she grumbles.

“He would deserve it, but that might start a intra-camp war, and that’s the last thing we need. Not after last time.”

She groans. “Gods, no. I was still finding new paint stains on my clothes two months later.”

Bracing himself on one arm so he doesn’t crush her, he fumbles his other one out from under her body, settling it on her waist. “Have you tried talking to Frank and Hazel about it?” he asks, seriously.

Her face twists. “They have enough to worry about. I don’t want to bother them with my silly problems.” 

“It’s not silly.” Sometimes, very rarely, he wishes he had stayed a Praetor--if only so he could crack down on shit like this.

“It  _ is  _ silly. It’s okay, though,” she says, giving him as much of a smile as she can. “Most days, it doesn’t even bother me.”

She doesn’t look very convincing.

“Hey.” He drops his head, kisses her softly. “You’re the best.”

Her smile doesn’t change. “Thanks.”

“The best.”

“Percy.”

“You,” kiss, “are,” kiss, “the greatest.”

“I’m gonna flip you again.”

As if he wouldn’t love that--something she knows full well. “You are the greatest,” kiss on the nose, “smartest,” kiss on the chin, “bravest,” kiss on the neck, and her hips jolt as his lips brush over the sweet spot on her jugular, “strongest hero of our age.”

“And you,” she gasps as he kisses her there again, “are so annoying.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” he asks, cheeky.

She doesn’t even dignify him with an answer. 

Making out, Percy has found, is a pretty good way of stopping any self hating thoughts in their tracks. At least for him, it’s hard to feel down on himself when he has Annabeth attempting to eat his face, her squirming body underneath him, rubbing up against him in all the right places.

An idea springs into his head, one worthy of the goddess of wisdom herself--as long as she never got wind of it. Leaning back a little, he pulls away, smothering his smile as she whines, chasing his mouth with hers. “Let’s play a game,” he whispers. 

Predictably, she rolls her eyes at him. “And you call me thirsty.” But she sinks a little further into the cushion, adjusting so her hips line up with his, one eyebrow raised expectantly. 

“You’re Annabeth,” Percy says, “daughter of Athena, Architect of Olympus, Hero of New Athens--” 

“Riveting.”

“--And I’m the son of Neptune, praetor of the 12th legion.” Her eyebrows shoot up, and he gives her one of his saucier grins. “You decided to infiltrate the city of New Rome, just to see if you could. Just to pad your resume.” He rubs his thumb against hers, watching the stunning stormcloud of her eyes grow darker as she starts to cotton on. “You avoided all the guards, snuck past Terminus with your knife, and you broke into my apartments. And now--” He turns them, pulls her on top of him, her hands never breaking from his. “Now you’ve bested me. So tell me, daughter of Athena,” he tries to sneer, the gesture awkward on his face, but Percy isn’t the greatest actor under the best of circumstances. “What will you do with me? Take me to Athens in triumph?”

Annabeth is having absolutely none of it, but she smiles down at him like the sun itself, squeezing his hands. She sits up straighter, her shoulders rolling back, her thick thighs gripping his hips to steady herself, and Percy knows that he’s smiling back like an absolute dope. He loves this girl so damn much.

“Why would I take you back to Athens?” she asks, haughty and proud. “I have you right where I want you.”

His heart and his dick both skip a beat. When she leans down to kiss him, his brain shorts out entirely. 

Percy is well acquainted with all of Annabeth’s kisses: shy and timid in those first few, glorious months after the Battle of Manhattan; languid and casual on a lazy Sunday picnic; desperate and clawing after hauling each other through actual Hell. This one starts out as the second, but soon she starts slipping him enough tongue to move them into type five, low and dirty and toe-curling. He knows she can feel him trying not to twitch too much beneath her, because she grinds down  _ hard _ , rocking over him in just the right way to send little sparks of fire skittering up and down his spinal cord. She laughs as he moans into her mouth. “Careful,” she murmurs, moving her lips to the cut of his jaw, “you wouldn’t want the praetorian guard to see you like this, would you?”

The very concept of not wanting to be seen with Annabeth in any capacity is so utterly foreign to him, that he can’t even formulate an appropriate response--that, and the way Annabeth is sucking a new bruise into his neck. “All I’d have to do is yell,” he stutters, hips jerking as she bites down, “and the whole Roman army would come bursting through those doors.”

She hums, licking over the red skin. “The whole army, huh? I do like a challenge,” she grins up at him, baring all of her teeth, smiling harder at his wounded noise. She slides a hand beneath his shirt, thumb teasingly passing over a nipple before getting too occupied in the game of getting his shirt off without removing her lips from his skin. 

When he can see again, she’s gotten rid of her shirt, too, utilitarian black bra in his face as she climbs up his torso until she plants her knees on either side of his head. Her skirt--and Percy thanks all the gods that she’s wearing a skirt today--brushes against his nose, and his hands automatically go to the fabric, bunching it up so he can breathe her in without any obstacle. “That’s it, Praetor Jackson,” she sighed, looking down at him. From down here, for a split second, she reminds him of the Statue of Liberty, or the Athena Parthenos: intimidating, stately, divinely beautiful. “You seem like you know what to do.”

He doesn’t even bother to remove her panties all the way, just pulls them to the side. 

For the longest time, Annabeth had refused to let Percy go down on her. Percy, of course, had respected her wishes, no matter how desperately he wanted to show her what she was missing. Back at sixteen, it hadn’t even been a horny thing, though they had been a couple of typically red-blooded teenagers. Mostly, Percy had just felt incredibly safe with her. Annabeth was his best friend, even before they had finally gotten together, and he could have told her anything, trusted her with any secret. After they made it official, he was able to trust her with his other secrets, too. He just wanted to try everything with her, and he wanted her to have fun and feel good at the same time. 

When she finally felt comfortable enough with him to let him do it to her, it had been, honest-to-Aphrodite, one of the greatest days of his life. That she felt as safe with him as he did with her had meant everything to him. 

Annabeth wastes no time thrusting herself down on his mouth now, bumping her pubis against his nose. He grins against her, stretching his neck up to give her a kiss on the smooth skin of her thigh, and he can feel her growl all the way down here. He hums in return, and presses his lips to her labia, just outside of where he knows she really likes it. 

She gives his hair a sharp tug. In response, he kisses the other side. “Percy, I swear, if you keep doing that, I’m going to--”

He thinks about teasing her for breaking character, but decides to give her what she wants instead, pressing a kiss to her center.

Percy really, really likes going down on her. He likes it when she pulls his hair, desperate, frantic, or when she squeezes his head between her legs, her whole body taut and tight and ready to snap. She could get a little self-conscious sometimes about being too loud--years of dorms and close quarter cabins could do that to you--but oh, when Percy got his head between her legs, she let him know exactly how she was doing. 

Gods of Olympus, he’s starting to worry about his circulation.

He’s thinking if he can keep this up, he can sneak a hand down for some relief, at least to push down his sweatpants, but as his fingers touch the elastic band, she reaches back and snaps up his hand, placing it firmly back on her waist. “Oh no you don’t,” she says, savagely, but she laces her fingers through his. “This first, then we can n-negotiate.”

The fact that she can still use long words like “negotiate” means that Percy isn’t working nearly as hard as he should.

By now, he has refined going down on Annabeth to an art form. He has mastered the basics: the wet, teasing kisses, the slow licks up and down, side to side as he spells his name, the actual location of the actual clitoris, to name a few. He’s well-practiced in advanced techniques, too, like timing, stamina, and how best to use his teeth. Of course, he also has his arsenal of Annabeth-specific things to draw on, the way she likes to be teased, to have it drawn out, to have it hurt, just a touch, a hot dash of pain to sweeten the pot.

She moans above him, thrusting against his face. “Is this why they made you praetor?” She laughs, breathless and panting. “For your service?”

Percy crosses his legs, squeezing, grounding himself. 

Given the opportunity, Percy thinks he could spend an eternity between her thighs, but he knows that her patience can only go so far, and it isn’t very long before her thrusts become more and more urgent, erratic, almost uncontrolled. “Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ ,” she groans, the sweetest melody Percy knows. “ _ Fuck _ , okay, I’m--I’m gonna--”

Abruptly, she lifts off of him, going up on her knees. Percy’s hands are still on her waist, her fingers crushing his.

“You--I--” she stammers, her character, Percy notes, a little smugly, lost in a haze of pleasure. “You will not trick me with such--such--tricks!”

Valiantly, he suppresses a smile.

“I came for a much greater prize.” She scoots her way down his body to his thighs, shoving down the hems of his sweatpants and his boxers on the way, shucking her own panties through some magical girl process that apparently involves bending space and time. “And I intend to collect.”

Quickly, without much fanfare, she pumps his cock a few times, dry and rough, before lining herself up, and sliding down, fast, hard, inelegant.

He hisses through his teeth. She moans, a deep, chesty noise which vibrates through her and into him, and his eyes nearly roll back into his head.

From there, it’s a mad, messy dash to the finish as she rides him. So far gone, Annabeth seems to have dropped her character entirely--not that Percy is doing any better, gripping the taut, scratchy couch cushions, hanging on for dear life. There’s not much else he can do, the wet, hot wrap of her around him enough to leave him speechless, stupid, nothing but a tool for her to chase her pleasure with.

With every downward press, she lets out a soft, high whine, quiet, little noises that get louder and louder, longer and longer, until Percy realizes that she is stringing them into words. “H-how does it feel, Praetor Jackson,” she mumbles, her hands coming up to play with her nipples, twisting and pinching, “to be fucked by the hero of N-new Athens?”

Percy is mistaken. She’s not out of control at all. She is fully in command, taking everything she needs from him. His hands tighten on her waist, his hips jerking.

“But that’s not even--oh,  _ fuck,  _ touch me, Percy, please,” she orders, her whole body tensing as he brings his thumb to her clit, circling the skin. “That’s not even my greatest victory.” She curls over him as he ghosts his thumb across the sensitive skin, clenching around his cock. 

He can’t even respond, his tongue dumb in his mouth.

“I defeated Kronos,” she gasps, pinching herself, “I found the Parthenos, I infiltrated New Rome just because I could, and I made you fall in l-love with me.”

“Yes,” he groans, “ _ shit _ , yes,  _ Annabeth _ .”

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you so much,” he babbles, the words coming so, so easily. “You are the most beautiful, the strongest--”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she moves faster and faster, rapidly approaching the end, “yes, tell me you would do anything for me.”

He moves his thumb faster, racing right alongside her. “Anything you want,” he says, struggling to remain in character, “I will--I will give up my position, I will surrender the city to you, I will--”

He can’t go on. He comes, hard, deep inside of her, his head hitting the armrest of the cough with an audible thunk.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she hisses. 

Chasing those last few lightning strikes of pleasure, he thrusts up into her, a sharp, sweet sting of pain lacing each movement, stroking even faster over her clit. 

“I win,” she mumbles, moving her hips from side to side, “I win--I win, I win your--”

She can’t finish her thought, coming apart above him, squeezing his hips with her thighs, almost falling down on top of him.

For--he doesn’t even know how long, they stay there, panting, aftershocks shooting through them, frozen in their prone positions. Eventually, uncurling herself, slowly, like she does when she is stretching out a cramp, she lifts herself up off of him, wincing as he slides out, soft and wet. Percy, for his part, has summoned enough brain cells that he hasn’t shot out of his dick to grab his shirt, and begins wiping them off, passing over their sensitive genitals as gently as he possibly can, though he can’t resist giving Annabeth one final, featherlight touch to her clit.

She shudders, bringing a hand down on his chest with no force behind it. “Stop.”

He chuckles, breathless, dropping the fluid-stained shirt onto the floor.

Annabeth drops onto his chest, then, her face once again mashed into his neck. “Damn,” she murmurs into the skin.

He has to agree. “You ok?”

She nods into his skin. “Just give me a minute.”

A minute turns into two, maybe, then five, then possibly ten. Percy has lost count. Besides, it’s not like he really has anywhere else he has to be--or even wants to be.

Finally, she sighs, raising herself up. “I really needed that,” she says, smiling a little, a real one, this time.

“I could tell,” he smirks.

She smacks his chest, lightly. “Hush.”

Chuckling, he raises his head to kiss her again. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” she nods. “Thanks.”

“Good.” Because most of the time, that’s all that matters to him. Some days, he feels like he was put on this planet for the sole purpose of making Annabeth feel better. Fate can throw whatever prophecies it wants at him, but none will ever be as important as being here, with her, holding her close as he puts a smile on her face. 

She yawns, mouth in a heroic stretch. “You gotta stop wearing me out,” she says. “I had stuff I wanted to do tonight.”

“Other than me?”

The stare she levels at him is impressively disapproving.

“You know, for the record?” he says. “Even if I were a son of Neptune, it wouldn’t change anything. I would have fallen in love with you no matter what.”

Annabeth’s eyes are pale in the waning sunlight streaming in from their window, flecks of blue and green and gold lighting up like constellations, like the whole night sky lives in her gaze. “Really?” she asks, softly, a breath of a hope of a prayer in the sacred space between them.

“How could I not?” 

Her smile stretches across her face, too big to be contained, and she buries her face in his neck again, the joyful shape of her lips pressed against his skin, and he brings his arms up around her, one hand in her hair, one on her back, pulling her in even closer.

**Author's Note:**

> get it, bc spqr... spq-t... sp cutie.......


End file.
